


testament of love

by soapyconnor



Series: the kids aren't all right [3]
Category: Band of Brothers
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, idk what else to tag, kind of?? a reflection i guess??, mentions of abuse, mentions of child abuse, uhhh nix has a bad time
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-26
Updated: 2020-10-26
Packaged: 2021-03-09 01:08:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,607
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27216193
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soapyconnor/pseuds/soapyconnor
Summary: two moments where edith winters reflections on lewis nixon.
Relationships: Lewis Nixon/Richard Winters
Series: the kids aren't all right [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1904674
Comments: 4
Kudos: 21





	testament of love

**Author's Note:**

> this is short and kind of bad but ive been feeling down and bad abt myself and like,,,,why should i even bother,,,,,,but i hope u get some enjoyment out of it?

Edith Winters didn’t expect to see her son’s boyfriend standing in their kitchen at two am, a bottle of whiskey in one hand, looking like he was contemplating on if he should drink it or not.

Lewis didn’t seem to notice Edith standing in the doorway, and she took her time, studying the young man. He was pale, and standing in a pair of Dick’s pajamas that swamped him. She noticed he was not wearing socks, and the tile had to be cold against his bare feet. He swallowed heavily, tilting the bottle over in his hand, and the muscles in his jaw worked. Even though the wax seal on the bottle of whiskey was unbroken, she didn’t need to worry about him harming himself in that way. The poor boy’s jaw was wired shut, and sure, while it was entirely possibly, Lewis often gave up when his frustration took over.

Edith pondered, for a moment, how Lewis even got this bottle of whiskey. They didn’t even get Lewis’ clothes from his parent’s home, so she highly doubted that he would be able to sneak a bottle of whiskey out, especially one unopened. Then, she remembered that Bill Guarnere’s mother had given it to her as a joke Christmas present.

“Everyone needs a good bottle of whiskey,” Augusta Guarnere had said, grinning broadly at Edith. Edith had looked down at the bottle, and didn’t really know what to do. Augusta had continued, “Look, Edith, it ain’t a big deal. Your kids don’t drink, and ya don’t have to do anything with it. Just put it somewhere in your cupboards, hide it away, and break it out when ya have guests.”

Edith, at the time, hadn’t been able to argue the logic with that. Richard had arched an eyebrow at the sight of the bottle, but had done nothing more than put it in one of their cabinets, hidden by containers of sugar, salt, and flour. Edith didn’t know how Lewis knew about this bottle of whiskey, or if he had stumbled upon it. Either way, Edith wasn’t so sure she wanted to know.

Lewis clenched his hands around the neck of the bottle, and took a deep breath, closing his eyes, before he slowly released it through his clenched teeth, sitting down at the table, burying his face into his arms, bending over the table. Edith continued to study him for a brief moment, before she quietly stepped into the kitchen.

Lewis didn’t move, a hand running through his hair as he buried his face closer against his arm.

“How are you feeling, Lewis?” she asked quietly, praying she didn’t startle him. She failed at that, and Lewis jerked so violently he nearly fell out of the chair, and almost knocked the bottle of whiskey off the table.

A look of shame spread over the young man’s face, and he flinched when Edith reached her hand out. She paused, biting down on her lower lip, before she put a steadying hand on his shoulder. She hated how he thought he had done something wrong; how he seemed to be anticipating flying fists or harsh words.

Again, she asked, keeping her voice as calm and soothing as possible, “How are you feeling?”

She could feel light tremors moving through his shoulders, and she hated that this was how he had lived his life, constantly afraid of any sudden movements, of violence being directed towards him.

Lewis swallowed, hands shrinking back away from the table. He drummed his fingertips against the edge, his eyes pointedly not looking at the bottle of whiskey. “I’m fine,” he said, although it came out more slurred and sounded painful. Very rarely he talked, as the movement seemed to cause aches and pains in his jaw. Mainly, he would just nod yes or no, or write down on a piece of paper what he needed. Although, this was also the most coherent she had seen him in a while.

She nodded, gently rubbing the space between his shoulders before she headed to the fridge. She filled a glass with cold water, pausing for a moment before she filled up another one. The glass clinked against the table as she set one in front of Lewis, and then she sat down across from him. She took small sips, while Lewis just seemed to eye the glass.

They sat in silence for a while, before she asked, “Are the meds wearing off?”

Lewis pursed his lips, then nodded. Edith glanced at the clipboard taped to the fridge. Unfortunately, she couldn’t give him another dose until seven. “Sorry, Lew.”

He shrugged his shoulders, trying to act like it didn’t bother him. He took a big gulp of water, subtly looking at the whiskey bottle.

Never in her life had she ever thought drinking was justified. Never would she encourage someone to drink.

But then she thought of how much pain Lewis was in, how there was still exposed nerves in his jaws from where they couldn’t fix it. How the meds had already worn off, and he wouldn’t be able to have another dose for five more hours.

She would have to repent in church for this later, she was sure.

Lewis watched her as she got a steak knife from a drawer, and sliced the wax seal off. His brow furrowed in confusion as she set it in front of him.

“Take a couple of sips,” she said, softly. “I know you usually drink more, but just a couple of sips to take the edge of.”

Lewis tilted his head. “What?”

Edith nodded to the bottle. “It’ll be our secret,” she said, slowly sliding back into her seat.

She watched his Adam’s apple bob. “I don’t understand, why are you . . .” He winced, and rubbed at his jaw.

“Will it take the edge off or not?” At Lewis’ nod, she motioned to the bottle again, “By the time you wake up to take your next dose, it’ll be out of your system. Go ahead, Lew. It’s better than you being in pain.”

After waiting a couple of moments, probably to see if Edith was tricking him, Lewis picked up the bottle of whiskey and took two big swigs, before placing it back on the table. Edith blinked, and took the bottle from him. She hoped it would numb his jaw enough for him to sleep, and reminded herself to tell Richard to pick up some more ibuprofen while he was out.

Lewis buried his face in his hands, and took a deep breath. Edith returned the bottle to its hiding spot, and began to fill up a Mueller ice bag. Maybe it was the fact it was so early in the morning, but she felt unbothered by what she had done. The relief that had swept over his face when the alcohol began to numb the exposed nerves was enough to tell her she had done the right thing.

Edith placed the ice bag on the table next to Lewis, and gently nudged him. “Back to bed,” she said quietly, and Lewis nodded, before slowly rising to his feet. He grabbed the ice bag, and pressed it against his jaw, his eyes growing droopy again. She followed him up the staircase, watching his steps to make sure he did not stumble. The last thing he needed was more injuries.

The door to Dick’s room creaked open, and Edith arched an eyebrow as her son stumbled out, red hair sticking up in all directions as he looked around the darkened hallway, panicked. He relaxed, though, as soon as he saw Lewis.

Edith couldn’t help herself, and ran a hand through her son’s hair. He flinched, mumbling a ‘mom’, and batting her hand away, which managed to get a small chuckle from Lewis. She smiled, and shook her head at him. “Goodnight, you two,” she said, making sure to keep her voice low. Dick gently took Lewis by the elbow, and the two of them mumbled a ‘goodnight’, before they disappeared into Dick’s room.

She stared at the closed door for a bit, before she finally managed to pry herself away. Richard had not stirred from his place on the bed, and she dipped under the covers next to him, trying to put tonight out of her mind.

Edith got to know Lewis Nixon a lot better since that fateful night.

She had already thought she knew him pretty well; the boy had been at their house often enough where she felt like it would have been silly of her _not_ to have a basic understanding of what made Lewis Nixon III tick.

But that night . . . Well, it changed what Edith thought she knew about him, and she realized she didn’t really know him at all.

Lewis always spoke of his home life being rough. Edith and Richard both had seen the big bruises on Lewis’ face, and it seemed about every three months the boy broke something. One time it was his hand, one time was his arm. The worst one was his leg—well. It _had_ been the worst one, until he broke his jaw.

But now she got to know him, _really_ know him. While she had let Dick stay home from school a couple of days after it happened, she wouldn’t let him stay home forever, and eventually had to go back to school. Lewis couldn’t, not for a while, and probably not for the rest of his junior year. It didn’t seem to bother him all that much, though, and she knew he would work to get himself caught up once he was able to stay awake longer than an hour.

Sometimes, she would forget Lewis was in the house. The house would be so quiet, like she and the dog were the only living souls, until he would come stumbling downstairs. Most of the time though, she was painfully aware of his existence, and just how much he slept.

Edith told herself that it was just due to the pain meds; the doctors even told them that he wouldn’t be all that present or coherent for a while, and that it would be for the best. “Exposed nerves in the jaw are, quite frankly, some of the worst things to experience,” the doctor had said, “Since we cannot do surgery on those exposed nerves until his jaw is healed, it’ll be best for him.”

Jaw broken in six different spots, she had to agree with that assumption, even though she didn’t have really any place _to_ disagree. Even though she, logically, knew the doctors would not lie about it, she couldn’t help but find herself worried. She would consistently check on Lewis, making sure he was still breathing and gently coaxing him awake when he would be asleep for too long without waking up. Some part of her, she supposed, was always scared that she accidentally gave him too high of a dose of medicine, and he was in some sort of coma.

It was a stupid fear, she knew, but she would feel guilty if they had gotten that poor boy out of that house, only for him to die because Edith Winters did something stupid.

Edith stood in the doorway, with the door propped open against her foot. Lewis was asleep on the bed, and it was getting close to one in the afternoon. All she saw was the dark tuft of hair poking out from beneath the blankets. If she focused her eyes on the prone form, she could see the slow rise and fall of the blankets as he breathed.

She had learned many things about Lewis Nixon, and knew she still had much to learn about him.

From the month he had been living with them already, she had learned two things about the young man: never make sudden movements around him, and never make him feel like he was trapped. In a tiny home, the latter was harder to perform, but Edith tried her best to make sure to always give him a quick escape route.

Slowly, she lowered herself onto the bed. The brief movement caused Lewis to stir, but all he did was sink under the covers more, and quietly snuffle. He also didn’t move when Edith put a hand on his leg, although his brown eyes did blink open when she gently shook himself.

“Good morning,” she said, watching clarity enter his eyes as he blinked them open a couple of times. “How are you feeling?”

He stretched a bit, before he settled back down onto the bed. He tried to yawn, but then winced when the wires wouldn’t let his jaw open. Lewis averted his eyes from Edith, “I’m all right.”

“How’s the pain?”

“Fine.”

She highly doubted that it was fine, but since that two am encounter, Lewis refused to acknowledge his pain. Edith, almost compulsory, checked that hidden whiskey bottle every so often, and yet, Lewis hadn’t drunk from it since that night.

“Are you hungry?”

Lewis scratched at the sharp angle of his jaw. “I guess so.”

He hadn’t eaten since Dick left for school earlier that morning. It had become sort of a routine, it seemed; Dick would go on his morning run, and Lewis would be waiting for him at the table by the time Dick came back. They would eat together, Lewis would take his morning dose of meds, before he would disappear back into Dick’s room, sleeping until whenever Edith woke him up.

At first, she had suspected that he would act like he wasn’t hungry because he was afraid of using up Edith’s ‘good nature’. It sounded entirely silly, but Dick had confided that nugget of information to her a long time ago, back when Lewis would stay for days at a time, and would be jumpy, jittery every time Edith or Richard suggested he join them for dinner. Most nights, Lewis would say thank you, but no, and go out to find something else to eat. They found it odd, but didn’t want to push. After Dick had told her that, though, she made it abundantly clear that he was always able to join them for dinner. She thought he had returned to that old habit, but now she knew much better.

Lewis Nixon would rather let himself starve then keep on living.

“Well, come on, then. Up you go.”

She helped Lewis into a sitting position, and only then did she had him the glass. Edith watched as he picked up the syringe, filled it with some of the liquid, before slowly filling his mouth. He scrunched up his nose, but nonetheless tilted his head back.

Once the liquid was down his throat, he asked, “Veggies again?”

“Doctor’s orders,” she replied with a small smile.

Lewis made a disinterested noise, but nonetheless continued to eat his lunch. As he ate, his eyelids began to grow heavy again, and by the time he was nearing the end, he could barely keep them open.

Edith took the glass from him again and stood, adjusting the covers around him as he curled back up. She brushed his hair back from his forehead, her eyes softening a bit as he flinched at the touch. As she gathered her things, and the empty water glass off of the end table, she found herself feeling awful things directed to Stanhope and Doris Nixon, both for different reasons. It wasn’t very Godly of her, she knew, but for a child to be scared of something as simple as a touch to the forehead—well, she wasn’t going to have it.


End file.
